Bullies
by ihadtoputitsomewhere
Summary: Bullies are the worst. Stiles has firsthand experience with them at school, and Lydia is there when they push him over the edge.


Stiles Stilinski sits in front of me in History class. He gets picked on a lot, which doesn't make any sense because he's one of those guys who's secretly really strong, so I'm pretty sure if he wanted to he could shut them up.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he slouches a little further down into his chair whenever they come into class. He's quiet and shy, and eventually went from only sometimes talking in class, to not saying anything at all. That's when you know something is wrong with Stiles, when he stops talking.

Sometimes he falls asleep in class, he head lolling to the side and eventually falling back, hovering closely over my desk. I used to tap him with my pencil to wake him up, but lately it's been happening more and more often. I figured he wasn't sleeping well at home for whatever reason, so I just let him be.

One Wednesday in January, he spoke to me for the first time.

"Hey, sorry, do you by chance have a pen I could borrow?" he asked, turning to face me. His voice wasn't at all what I expected it to be. It was deep and pure, but it also had a softness to it that was almost comforting in a way.

"Yeah, one sec." I said as I searched through my bag. When I found one, I handed it to him and he smiled.

"Thanks." He said. His smile was contagious, and I couldn't help but smile back. He began to turn back around when he stopped suddenly. "I'm Stiles, by the way." He reached out his hand in a clumsy, Stiles-ish way.

"Nice to finally meet you, Stiles. I'm Lydia." I shook his hand, his skinny but strong fingers wrapping easily around my tiny palm. I squeezed, he squeezed back.

It had been 3 months and 6 days since I first talked to Stiles. Over the past 3 months and 6 days, I learned that he was extremely sarcastic, funny, and quick-witted. He and I actually have heated discussions at lunch, in which I actually have some competition. We get together outside of school to work on History projects and papers. He's sweet and a genuinely good person.

I also learned that his mom died when he was 8, but he didn't really like talking about it, so I told him we didn't need to unless he wanted to. That was the first time I ever saw him cry.

Today in class, two boys were giving Stiles a really hard time. I leaned forward in my chair and whispered into Stiles' ear, "Hey, don't worry about them. They're just dicks trying to mess with you."

"Yeah." He huffed out with a laugh, but I could tell he was still pretty upset.

"Hey Stilinski, think you can try sitting through this class without having another freak-meltdown again? Or is that too hard for you?" one of the boys called out.

The other boy laughed. "Yeah, is that too hard for you, Stilinski? The sheriff's son who cant even read a book without screwing it up?"

I reached out to place my hand on Stiles' shoulder, but before I could, he stood up and stormed out of the classroom.

"Stiles, wait—" I called out. But he was already out of the room and out of earshot. I stood up and looked at the two boys, who were snickering in their seats.

"Both of you can go screw yourselves." I said harshly. "And when you're done, you can go straight to hell, and screw yourselves there."

"Ms. Martin!" my teacher cried. Though I didn't wait to hear the rest of what she said, I turned on my heel and took off after Stiles. I got out into the hallway with enough time to just barely catch him going into the boy's locker room.

I ran down the seemingly endless hallway and finally reached the locker room. I pressed my ear against the cool glass and listened. I heard water running. Showers. As well as crying. Stiles. I knocked twice.

"Stiles?" I asked gently.

"Not today, guys, please." He called back, his voice broken and thick with tears.

"Stiles, it's okay, it's just me. It's just Lydia."

A few seconds later the door cracked open, revealing my friend. His eyes were red and puffy, his sleeves soaked with tears. He looked around the hallway to see if there was anyone who came with me, and then back at me. "It's just me. I promise."

He rested his head on the door and sighed before moving aside to let me in.

"You should be in class, Lyd." He said, his voice breaking. He sniffed and wiped his nose with his sleeve.

"What I should be doing is kicking their asses." I said, pointing towards the classroom. I paused. "You okay?"

He sniffed again. "I'm fine. You'd think I'd be impervious to it by now." He laughed weakly and sniffed again. "Instead, I run away like a little girl." He looked up at me. "No offense."

I laughed and put a hand on his cheek, gently moving his face so he was looking at me instead of his shaking hands. "It's not your fault you know. They say those things to try and fix their own self-esteem problems. But you can't fix yourself by destroying someone else."

"Yeah well, they're doing a pretty good job." He muttered, pulling down at his sleeves, almost like it was a nervous tick. Then it clicked. He was hiding. Underneath those sleeves were the marks of destruction. I had them too, but no one else knows about it. Except Allison.

"Stiles," I said softly, slowly taking my hand from his cheek and placing it on the edge of my sleeve. I pulled it up, revealing the scars that lined my wrist. Some were small and shallow; others went deeper and were a dark purple hue against my pale skin. "You don't have to hide from me."

He looked down, tracing his shaking fingers down my forearm with his mouth open and eyes blinking hard. He looked back up at me, eyes filled with heavy tears. He reached down and pulled at his sleeve, revealing crisscross scars, some shallow and some deep.

"After Jackson." I stated simply. "I was convinced it was my fault, all those people. It took a long time, but after awhile I realized that eventually we saved his life, as well as the lives of all the people we _would_ have…you know…if we didn't stop him."

Stiles sniffed for the umpteenth time. "When my mom died, I kept to myself a lot. Didn't really talk to anyone except Scott for…a really long time. Not even my dad. There were things I wanted to tell him, but I knew they would hurt him. So I buried them, and let them hurt me."

He wiped away the tears that cascaded down his pale cheeks and looked down, as if he could somehow hide them. For the first time since I had met him, Stiles looked defeated. He looked as if he was about ready to give up.

I couldn't let that happen to my friend. I couldn't let two pathetic bullies be what pushed Stiles over the edge. I took his hand in mine and squeezed.

"Come on. There's something we need to do." I said firmly, gently pulling him towards the door.

"Lyd, I can't go back in there. Not after running away. I—I can't let them see me like this." He said, gesturing to his eyes, which were still brimmed red but slightly less puffy.

"Hey, trust me, you're going to want to be there for this." I said with a smile.

The smallest hint of a smile flickered across Stiles' lips, and he finally agreed to follow me back to the classroom.

We walked in 5 minutes before class was supposed to end, so the students were scattered and socializing amongst themselves. I marched right up to the two boys and sat down on the desk they were sitting at.

"Hi boys." I said in the sweetest voice I could manage, flashing a smile. "I just wanted to clear some things up before we get out of here today, alright?" They turned to each other and shrugged, which was my cue to continue. I leaned in close, so that I was almost touching their faces and began explaining.

"If you _ever_ even _think _about treating my friend like a piece of shit again, I will personally chop off your tiny, _tiny _testicles and use them as Christmas ornaments. And if I even _hear_ about the two of you harassing Stiles, I will slap you so hard your teeth will bleed. Go ahead. Call my bluff. _I dare you_." I stepped back and looked at the boys one at a time, twirling a strand of my hair in between my fingers. "Can you do that? Or is that too hard for you?"

They looked at me, at each other, and then back at me. They nodded, almost violently.

I smirked, "Good. I'm glad we're on the same page."


End file.
